


The Redberry Jam Runnerbeast

by ScribbleJotterAmy



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Gen, adaption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribbleJotterAmy/pseuds/ScribbleJotterAmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomran is delighted when the miners go on strike.  It means he can spend time with the pit runnerbeasts and makes especial friends with Gleam, a runnerbeast with a love of redberry jam sandwiches.  Then some bullies steal the runners, hiding them in some dangerous haunted caverns.  Can Tomran and his brother get them back before they are turned to runner meat?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Redberry Jam Runnerbeast

**Author's Note:**

> This is an adaption of my all time favourite story when I was a child - The Strawberry Jam Pony by Sheila Lavelle.

The Redberry Jam Runnerbeast

The best day of Tomran’s life was the day he saw a whole wing of dragons go between above Denosil Coal mine. Seeing the dragons would have been a momentous event in itself as seeing even one dragon this far from High Reaches Hold and Weyr was extremely rare, but that was also the day he met the redberry jam runner beast. 

He hadn’t been expecting anything special when he woke up that morning. He hadn’t wanted to wake up at all.

It was the light from the small glow basket his brother Namron opened shining in his eyes that disturbed him. He groaned and buried his head under the woollen blankets. 

“Sorry Tommy,” whispered Namron. Tomran felt the rope creak against the wood of the folding bed they shared in the kitchen of the tiny cot hold as his brother climbed out of it.

“What’s up Nam?” yawned Tomran, pulling the covers off his head and rubbing his eyes. “It’s the middle of the bloomin’ night.”

Namron opened the main glowbasket over the fireplace and closed the smaller glow. “It's near fifth hour,” he said glancing at the reed taper they used to mark time over night . “I've got to be at work by half past, to feed the runners before they start their shift.” He washed himself briefly at the kitchen sink and then began to pull on his clothes.

Sitting up in bed Tomran watched enviously as his brother laced up his boots and settled a cap on his head at a jaunty angle. At 14 Namron was old enough to work in the coal mine driving a runner beast that pulled the tubs of coal. It didn't seem fair to Tomran that he was only nine and had to wait five more turns to be apprenticed and by then thread would have been falling for three of them if the dragonriders were to be believed. Brinton was weyrbred, he was constantly arguing with the holders that they should be preparing the hold for threadfall but that was four hundred turns in the past. Thread hadn't come the last time the riders had told the holds to prepare. Why should they now? Tomran groaned at. Five more years having to learn his numbers, his letters and the ballads under the strict Harper Brinton, who rapped your knuckles if you weren't paying enough attention, and being weyr bred, believed in threadfall. If he was right three of those years would be further restricted to the mine hold, unable to range the woods and hills for for fear of thread. His brother on the other hand rode runners all day and earned half a mark a week. It wasn't fair at all.

Namron packed his dinner bag with bread and cheese and a ceramic bottle of cold klah which their mother had left out for him the night before. Then he stood at the table and cut four more slices from the loaf. Two of these he spread with butter and ate for breakfast, and the other two he sandwiched together with redberry jam from a jar at the back of the pantry. Tomran whistled and his eyes grew.

“Namron!” he said, “That jam's for Da's tea. I'll tell mam.”

Namron wrapped the sandwich in a bit of cloth and shoved it in his bag. “Don't tell Tommy,” he said. “It's for Gleam the new runner. He'll do anything for a bit of redberry jam.”

Both lads looked towards the ceiling at a sound from the bedroom upstairs where their mother slept with their three year old sister Madina, and where their father would sleep when he came home from the night shift at the pit.

“I wont tell if you give me an eighth for some snare string.” Tomran said with a crafty grin. His brother scowled at him as they heard their mother coming down the stairs.

“You little stinker!” he said. “I only get a quarter mark a week in pocket money.”

“Mam!” Called Tomran “Our Nam's been...oof!” His voice was suddenly cut off as Namron clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Git.” said Namron, flinging a mark at Tomran's head. He slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed his driver's whip from behind the door and ran for the door, just as their mother came into the kitchen in her night robe, a shawl draped around her shoulders her hair in a long plait down her back.

“Tarra, mam. See you later.” shouted Namron. Then the door banged and he was gone.

“Nam's a good lad,” she said filling the kettle and stoking up the banked fire in the range. “His wages come in very useful. I hope you'll work as hard when you're fourteen Tommy.”

Tomran bounced gleefully about on the bed, the mark clutched in his hand. “I will, mam,” he promised. “I can hardly wait to get a runner of me own to look after.”

His wish would come true sooner than he expected. An hour later, when the bed had been folded away, the fire was burning cheerfully in the grate Tommy sat at the table in his night shirt eating porridge with Madina. His mother, frying a rasher of cured wherry for their father's breakfast, kept looking at the door with a worried frown on her face.

“It's not like your dad to be this late,” she said. Then she dropped the spoon her face draining of colour as the resonant peal of the pit bell rang out from the main hold.

Madina spilt her porridge and started to cry. Tomran's mother moved towards the door, “The pit bell...there's been an accident. What if your dad...?” 

The door opened suddenly and Tomran's father strode in, his face grim under it's covering of coal dust. He took his trembling wife in his arms and patted her shoulder awkwardly while she sobbed against his chest.

“There there bonny lass. It's all right.” he said. “The bell's not announcing a disaster. This time it's announcing a triumph.”

Tomran's mother wiped her eyes on her apron. “What do you mean Joran?” she said. “Will the Lord holder and Master Miner be giving you more money at last?”

Joran sat down by the fire and began to pull off his boots. “Nay lass,” he said. “The Lord Holder and Master miner are much too greedy for that. They've turned us down again.” He peeled off his damp socks and draped them over the fender to dry. “Well they've had it their own way long enough.” he said. “Rannall returned this morning. There's been a meeting with the lads at the other coal and firestone pits. They've agreed to go on strike. There'll not be one shovel of coal or firestone dug out of High Reaches mines until we get more pay. The pits are closed, and who knows when they'll be open again.” He folded his arms and stared moodily into the flames.

Madina slipped down from her chair and ran to climb in her father's lap. Tomran's mother began to pour out the klah.

“The runners dad!” Tomran burst out, standing by the door with his mouth open. “What will happen to the runners?”

Just then Namron rushed in, his cap crooked, hair sticking out around his head.

“Hey Tommy!” He shouted, a broad grin on his face. “Get your clothes on man. The runners are coming up out of the pit, and we need all the riders we can get.” Then he turned and dashed out again.

Tommy didn't need telling twice. Not bothering to wash, he scrambled into his clothes, flung on a his cap and made for the door.

“Wait a minute Tommy,” Called his mother. “What about your lessons with the Harper?”

But Tommy didn't stop. “Hang them!” he muttered under his breath. “I've got better things to do.” He raced off up the line of cot holds after his brother.

+++++

Tomran hurried through the cot holds towards the mine entrance higher up the mountain. Then he stopped dead as he turned the last corner and the pit head came into view. His eyes widened and a huge grin spread over his face at the marvellous sight in front of him. 

Between twenty and thirty runner beasts, small enough to work in the mine shafts, but with powerful hind legs to drag the mine carts were trotting towards him along the metalled road. Black, grey, chestnut, brown and dappled. All had docked tails and close shaven coats and the leather headgear of a working pit pony. Excited by the daylight and the fresh air, they tossed their heads and twitched their ears at the people who came out to watch them go by.

In front, riding bareback on a strong black mare and leading another by the bridle, was a thin faced man with a moustache. It was Journeyman Gebron, the stable keeper at the mine. Namron's supervisor. He was a friend of their father, and Tomran knew him well.

“Now then,” shouted Gebron “Come to give us a hand, have you?” He chuckled at Tomran's beaming face. “Tell Namron to let you have Gleam.” he said. “He's a grand runner, that. Won't give you no bother.”

Tomran watched the runners and their riders clatter by until he caught sight of his brother riding along next to Alberic, his skinny ginger haired friend. Namron's runner was a frisky grey, which needed all his strength to control, making it difficult for him to hold on to the reins of the brown runner that trotted alongside.

“Tommy!” called Namron. “Look after Gleam, will you? I can't manage him as well as this awkward beggar.”

He threw the brown pony's reins into Tommy's hands. “Ride 'im, Tommy,” he grinned. “Or you can just lead him if you like. And here, carry this dinner-bag for me as well.” He pulled the bag from his shoulder and flung it down, then dug in his heels and cantered briskly away.

Tomran picked up the bag and put his arm through the runners bridle and stared after his brother. All he knew about riding horses was from watching the traders when they came on their annual visit to the mine hold, and the outriders for the more frequent tithe caravans. He'd never ridden a real horse in his life before, although he had dreamed about it often enough. And here was that daft Namron telling him to ride as if it was the easiest thing in the world. The bloomin' thing didn't even have a saddle.

The runner stood patiently in the road while Tomran let the other's go past. The people went back into their cot holds, the bell stopped tolling and the road became suddenly quiet. Tomran gazed at the pony, admiring it's glossy coat, and the white blaze on it's face and the intelligent look in it's eye.

“Now then, Gleam,” he murmured softly.

The runner stared into Tomran's face for a moment, then something happened that made Tomran almost burst with happiness. With a whinny of pleasure, the runner stepped forward, placed it's chin on Tomran's shoulder and gently nuzzled his ear.

Tomran glowed all over as if he'd just eaten a bowl of his granny's best herdbeast stew with dumplings. It was better than the time he got a second hand yo-yo from his father at Turn-over and even better than scoring that amazing final goal against the trader boys team at the last gather's football game.

He put his arms around the runner's neck and gave him a hug. Then, grabbing a handful of mane in one hand and clutching the reins in the other, he managed to scramble awkwardly onto the runner's back. Tomran nudged Gleam's sides with his heels and clicked his tongue. “Trot on, Gleam,” he said and to his delight and amazement, the runnerbeast trotted over the road, following the route the others had taken.

Tomran was bounced about so much that his teeth rattled in his head as the runner, anxious to catch up with his comrades cantered through the mine hold. Several times he almost tumbled off, and once he bashed his head on a tree, which made him swear, but by clinging tightly to the mane with both hands he somehow managed to stay on until the other runners came in sight. 

The rest of the group was only a short way ahead when a stone, flung by someone standing by one of the craft halls suddenly knocked Tomran's cap flying. Other stones followed, stinging his legs and body and striking the terrified runner, who shied sideways and snorted in fright.

“What an old nag!” shouted a jeering voice, and Tomran's heart sank into his boots when he saw it was Danil the leader of the worst bunch of bullies you could meet. Danil and his gang were thirteen years old and the terror of the gather square during the breaks the Harper allowed them. They had a hideout in some uninhabited caverns not too far from the Mine hold. No-one dared to go there. The caverns were meant to be dangerous. They had been planned to be the Mine Hold when it had first been established at the end of the last pass, but rumour went that Master Miner Gellin's wife Irina had been mad, and had triggered a fault all had thought to be inactive and safe, bringing half of the incipient hold down. It was supposed to be haunted by Irina and her two sisters who had been trapped with her. You were supposed to be able to hear their moans and the banging as they tried to dig themselves out on the darkest quietest nights. Other's said it was all rubbish, and the Master miner had brought about the death of his wife and her sisters by not properly surveying the caverns before designating them as living quarters, and the tale was simply to frighten everyone away in case of another collapse. There never had been another collapse though. Not to Tomran's knowledge and Danil's gang only laughed at the stories. They camped out in the caverns when they had free time, and had wild parties there, safe from prying eyes. 

With a red face and sweating hands Tomran struggled to control his runner and he almost sobbed with relief when he heard hoofbeats on the cobbles and saw his brother galloping back to look for him. After taking one look at Namron's snorting runner charging fiercely towards him, Danil disappeared rapidly round a corner.

Namron reigned in the grey runner and spoke quietly to Gleam until he calmed down. Then he slid to the ground and picked up Tomran's cap from the road.

“What's been going on?” he asked. “Giving you some bother was he, that Danil?”

Tomran managed a grin. “I'm all right.” he said. “It was Gleam I was worried about.”

Namron gazed at him proudly. “You're a brave lad,” he said, and Tomran felt ten feet tall. “I knew you'd manage, if I let you get on with it by yourself. What do you think of Gleam then?”

“He's grand!” Tomran burst out. “But I haven't half got a sore bum!”

Namron laughed. “Try gripping with your knees,” he advised. “Then you won't bounce so much. We're taking them to the bottom field. It's not far now.”

The two brothers trotted their ponies side by side along the lane out of the hold and down the hillside. The sun was stronger now, the air surprisingly warm for late autumn, and the ponies began to quicken their pace at the sight of fields ahead.

“Look over there Tommy!” Namron suddenly exclaimed, pointing into the sky. Tomran's eyes followed the direction his brother was pointing and he gasped.

“Dragons. A full flight of 'em!” He said in awed wonder. 

“I'd love to be a dragonrider.” Namron said, eyes never leaving the wing in the air “What with thread never coming back it must be such an easy life up at the weyr.”

Tomran watched them too, but thought Namron was crazy. What was the point of going all alone up to the weyr in the cold mountains away from the family and friends on the slim chance he would impress a dragon even if it could fly and go between when, he had a horse down here? But even he gasped when – just like in the ballads - the dragons suddenly disappeared.

+++++

The bottom field as a patch of grassy land about half a mile from the hold. Tomran often went there to fly his kite on windy afternoons, or to play with the rag stuffed ball his friend Billim owned. The air was always fresh as a breeze always blew up the valley and there was plenty of scraggly grass. A better place for the runners would be hard to find.

The runners jogged on until they reached a metal gate in the dry stone wall. Journeyman Gebron opened the gate from runnerback and led everyone through. “Here we are lads,” he said, smiling. “Take your runners bridles off and chuck all the gear into the barn, then let the blighters go.”

Tomran slid stiffly from the runner's back, staggering when his feet hit the ground. “Ow!” he groaned, clutching his behind. “I won't be able to sit down for a week.”

“Watch where you're putting your feet,” laughed the journeyman, and Tomran groaned again when he saw what he had landed in.

“Never mind,” grinned Namron. “Horse muck makes grand manure. Maybe it'll make you grow, like Granda's veggies.”

Tomran scowled and stuck his tongue out, which made Namron laugh even more.

“Listen lads,” said Journeyman Gebron. I've got to go to the main hold for a few days to a meeting with the Master miner with a few of the lads. I want somebody sensible to keep an eye on the runners while I'm gone. Feed and groom them every day, stop them running too wild, like. You'll be in charge Namron, with your mate Alberic, and I'll pick half a dozen other's as well.” He looked at Tomran thoughtfully. “What about you, Tom? Do you want to help?”

Tomran felt so pleased he could hardly speak. “I...er...yes, please Journeyman Gebron!” He blurted out. But Namron shook his head.

“Tommy has to go to lessons with the Harper, Journeyman.” He said. “Mam will never let him miss them.” 

Tomran glared at his brother and aimed a kick at his shin.

The Journeyman chuckled. “That's all right, Tom,” he said. “You can come every morning before school, and then in the afternoons. Look after Gleam, as he seems to have taken a fancy to you. Namron will show you how to do things right.” He turned and led his own runner away into the field.

Namron showed Tomran how to unbuckle Gleam's bridle and take the bit out of his mouth. All around them other apprentices were doing the same thing, slapping the runners backs and sending them off into the meadow to graze.

Tommy watched them, his eyes shining. In their first few moments of freedom after months of working underground, the runners went wild with joy. They bucked, and pranced and tossed their heads, they rolled on their backs and kicked their legs in the air, and they galloped madly backwards and forwards over the grass whinnying in delight.

“Off you go Gleam.” said Tomran, patting his runners neck.

But the runner didn't seem keen to join the others. He kept pressing as close as possible to Tomran's side, snuffling at the dinner bag which he still wore over his shoulder.

Namron grinned. “The crafty beggar!” he exclaimed. “He can smell the jam. He wants his sandwich. Don't you Gleam me bonny lad?”

Tomran opened the bag and took out the parcel. Before he could even begin to unwrap it Gleam had pushed his nose into the cloth, bumping Tomran backwards with his head, and whinnying eagerly at the scent of his favourite food.

Tomran got the wrapping off at last, and held the bread and jam out towards the pony. Gleam's ears twitched and his eyes rolled as he took it into his mouth and began to chew. Tomran and Namron looked at one another and smiled.

The sandwich finished, Gleam turned and cantered away over the field. Tomran stuffed his hands into his pockets and felt suddenly miserable. Namron gave him a shove. “Hey, cheer up.” he said, “You can come up for half an hour at dinner time. You'd better get off to school now though, it must be well after the ninth hour now.

There was nothing Tomran could do but obey, so with a last look at the runners, he trudged off up the hill towards the hold.

Harper Brinton was short and dark with fat legs, a large paunch and a bad temper. He didn't seem to like children at all. He certainly didn't like dirty children who came into his schoolroom late, with runner muck on their boots. He made Tomran take them off and leave them outside.

Tomran didn't care. All he could think about was his runner beast, waiting for him at the bottom field and he counted the minutes until he was let out for lunch. When the time came at last, Tomran pulled on his boots and raced down the corridor to the little room where they left their coats.

“Coming into the woods after dinner, Tommy?” asked Billim, taking his cap from the peg next to Tomran's “We could take a glow this time, and have a proper look at that secret tunnel.”

They had found a tunnel the day before while playing hide and seek in the woods behind the collapsed caverns. Looking for a good hiding place, Tomran had heaved away a big rock in a rocky cleft and there it was, a human carved tunnel leading deep into the cliff, and just begging to be explored.

Tomran had been waiting for a chance to go back there with a light, to find where the passage led, but today he had more important things to do.

“Sorry Billim,” he said, swaggering towards the door. “I've got to go an ride my runner beast.” and he ran gleefully out into the yard, giggling at Billm's astonished face.

Tomran's mother tutted in annoyance when he burst into the cothold and begged for redberry jam sandwiches for his diner.

“What about this lovely mince and dumplings?” she said crossly, stirring a pot on the stove. “It's your favourite. I made it specially.” But Tomran pleaded so hard that at last she gave in, on condition he washedn his face, and cleaned his smelly boots before going out again.

Tomran got away as soon as he could. He ran all the way down the hill to the bottom field, using the stone wall as a break to his headlong flight clutching the sandwiches in his hand. Braked by the wall, he scrambled over it not wanting to waste time with the gate.

The runners were frisking about in a corner of the field. Tomran was about to shout Gleam's name when he saw a brown runner beast leave the others and start galloping towards him across the grass. He laughed aloud as he realised it was Gleam.

“Good lad!” he said, when Gleam skidded to a halt in front of him, snorting and pawing the ground. “look what I brought for our dinner.”

Soon he and his runner were happily munching their sandwiches together. Tomran thought that redberry jam had never tasted so good.

+++++

 

Every morning for the next few days. Tomran got up at dawn and ran off to the bottom field to spend as much time with Gleam as possible before his lessons. As soon as lessons were over he would race home, grab his sandwiches and rush away down the hill.

“That boy's besotted,” Joran complained, staring sourly into the fire with nothing to do. “It'll break his heart when the strike's over and that runner has to go back down the pit.”

“Oh leave him be.” said Tomran's mother. “It could be another six months yet. Let him enjoy it while he can. At least he's not mooning over getting a dragon like Yelda's boy after that wing was sighted the other day.”

Joran grunted.

The thing Tomran loved most of all were the long evenings. He had from the fourth hour until bedtime to spend as he pleased, and there was always plenty to do. The runners had to be fed, and groomed and exercised, and the best way to exercise them was to ride them.

Every evening after tea, Tomran and Namron and Namron's friends would mount the runners and gallop bareback around the fields until dark. Whooping and yelling and shouting with excitement, they would chase each other over the grass, playing holdless bandits, tag, or their favourite game of all, thread and burrow. The runners enjoyed all the fun, and soon the fresh air, exercise and daily grooming made their coats shine with health and fitness.

Gleam didn't like anyone to ride him but Tomran. He would wait by the gate snorting impatiently until Tomran arrived, and would whinny with joy when he saw him running up the hill. The only thing that spoilt it all was Danil and his gang. Several times they turned up to sneer and throw stones, and once they even let all the runners out to roam the mine hold and trample in peoples gardens, which got Namron and his friends into a lot of trouble.

“That's it.” said Namron grimly, after wasting almost the whole evening rounding up the runners again. “We'd better not leave them on their own any more.” From then on He and Alberic took blankets and a stove and camped out in the barn.

The sevenday's end finally came, and a day with no lessons. Tomran threw on his clothes, swallowed his breakfast, then hunted in the cupboard until he found an old trug.

“Going down the bottom field again are you?” Joran grumbled. “You'll fall off that runner one of these days and break your bleeding neck.”

“I'm going into the woods first,” said Tomran, “To get some of the edible fungus balls.” His sister Madina screwed up her face and began to wail.

“Take her with you, Tommy,” said his mother, and Tommy scowled. He hated taking Madina out with him. She always had a snotty nose, and she never stopped whining.

“Aw, mam,” he groaned. “Do I have to?” She wet he knickers the last time.” 

Joran stood up and took a step towards Tomran.

“All right, I'll take her.” Tomran said hastily. “Come on Maddie, Get your coat on.”

Tomran's mother slipped something into his pocket as they were leaving. It was a small packet of sandwiches, and Tomran knew that in them was the last of the redberry jam. With his dad on strike, there would be no marks for any more, and that was why he had thought up the fungus ball plan.

Madina insisted on bringing her own small basket, and Tomran held her hand as they trudged up into the woods. He'd picked a good time for fungus gathering, It had rained the day before he'd met Gleam, and the fungi had used that moisture to throw out many of the tiny round balls that made such delicious savoury treats. In the end he was glad he had brought Madina with him, for she soon grew bored of digging for tubers and came to help. She was good at finding the little balls among the leaf mould. In no time they had filled both Tomran and Madina's baskets to the brim.

“What we gonna do?” Said Madina as Tomran lugged the heavy basket over the rocks and roots of an outcrop. “We gonna cook them and eat them up?”

“Not likely,” said Tomran. “Were going to sell them.”

Madina stamped her foot and howled. “Me wanna eat them with a pin!” she yelled in fury.

Tomran didn't bother to argue with her. He set off through the woods carrying the basket to the main mine hold, Madina trailed along behind still howling.

The main mine hold was a huge building built out from the cliff side. The harper had rooms there, and it was where he went to lessons daily. It also held the main stores for the mine hold. It held everything but the coal that came out of the mine. Leather, and candles, legumes and medicinal herbs, clothing, cook wear and tools. Lady Pelany the wife of the Master Miner kept the stores for her husband. She was a thick bodied woman from her many pregnancies and had a cough. She was in the stores weighing out sweet biscuits from a jar onto brass scales. She leaned over the counter when she saw Madina and put half of a broken one into her hand. Madina stopped yelling at once.

“Poor bairn's hungry.” Wheezed Lady Pelany, coughing with the effort of standing up. “Hello Tomran. What can I get you today?”

Tomran held up his basket. “Do you want to buy some fresh fungus balls Milady?” he said “You could roast them and sell them from the stores. I bet you could make a nice profit and all.”

Lady Pelany peered down at the fungus balls, taking one and examining it closely to make sure they were the edible type. “Well, I suppose I could,” she said. “But that would depend on what you are asking for them, wouldn't it?”

“Not much,” said Tomran, grinning his cheeky grin that his mam said could charm the wherries from their nests – no mean feat with a creature so vicious. “I only want a jar of redberry jam...Oh and I've an eighth for some snare string and sweet sap gum from my pocket money.”

Lady Pelany had such a fit of coughing that she almost choked.

“Good lad,” she wheezed, dabbing her eyes. “Helping the family while your dad's on strike, are you? Earning jam for your sister's bread?”

Madina sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “It's not for me.” she said. “It's for his daft runner....Ow!” She hopped up and down as Tomran trod on her foot.

“Shurrup, stupid!” he hissed in her ear, and luckily Lady Pelany didn't seem to have heard. To Tomran's relief she reached up and took a jar of redberry jam from one shelf, a reel of snare string from another, and two sticks of sweetsap gum. Still wheezing and muttering, she wrapped it all up in a rough piece of cloth and handed it over the counter of the mine hold stores shaking her head when he offered her the eighth mark he offered.

“Thanks milady.” grinned Tomran, shoving it deep in the pocket of his coat. Then he grabbed Madina's hand and pulled her out of the stores. He almost dragged her down the road towards home, and bundled her and her basket through the door without listening to her yells.

“Me wanna sell my fungus balls too,” bawled Madina, kicking at his ankles in the kitchen. “Me gonna tell mam!”

Luckily Tomran's mother was upstairs, and there was no sign of his dad. Pausing only long enough to stuff his spare pocket with a few slices of bread, Tomran ran out again. He was so pleased with the success of his fungus plan, that he almost flew down the hill to the bottom field. Now he had a whole jarful of redberry jam for Gleam, not just one measly sandwich.

Tomran jumped up and down as he ran alongside the stone wall, hoping for a glimpse of the runner. But for once Gleam was not in his usual place by the gate.

Surprised to see only a few runners in the field, Tomran climbed the gate and looked anxiously around.

“He must be behind the barn, or something.” Tomran told himself, with a strange cold feeling in his chest.

Gleam was not behind the barn, He was nowhere in the field at all, and Tomran's heart beat fast as he stared helplessly about. 

A shout from the barn doorway made him look round. He hardly knew the two battered figures that limped slowly towards him. Their faces scratched and bloody, their clothes filthy and torn they looked as if they'd had a fight with a tunnel snake and lost.

“Namron!” cried Tomran, his voice coming out in a squeak. “And Alberic! What happened? Where's the rest of the runners? Where's Gleam?”

Namron held a rag to his bloody nose and peered at Tomran out of puffed up eyes, one of which was blackening.

“It was that stinking Crafter boy Danil and his lot.” He muttered thickly. “The lousy rotters beat us up. They took ten of our best runners and went off with them.”

“We couldn't do nowt to stop them.” Alberic put in, his knobbly knees sticking out through rips in his trousers. “They came in the night. There was ten of them, and only two of us.”

Tomran stared at his brother. “What do they want them for?” he demanded. “Are they going to ride them?”

“I suppose so,” sighed Namron, kicking moodily at a clump of grass with his boot. “They're calling themselves 'The Masked Riders'. They'll be galloping around the hold and valley like bandits I expect.

Tomran went cold all over when he thought of those great bullies riding Gleam.

+++++

Tomran stood outside the locked iron gates to the cavern system that had partially collapsed so early in the minehold's history, gasping for breath after running all the way. He peered through the rusty metalwork at the overgrown entrance to the abandoned clingvine covered forecourt buildings that abutted the cliff side and cavern system beyond. Thee was no sign of any runner beasts, but faint neighing sounds reached his ears from somewhere inside.

There came a sudden shout from behind the gate, and a bit of a sharp rock struck Tomran in the chest. Two of Danil's gang were standing in the forecourt, armed with slingshots, and handfuls of stones.

“Clear off Tomran!” one of them called. “Them runners are where you or nobody else can't get at them.”

“Danil's locked them in the cellar,” yelled the other, grinning spitefully and hurling another stone. “We're going to butcher them tomorrow, to turn them all into runner meat. We've got the whole place guarded, so you might as well get lost you stinking little twerp.”

Tomran's face went white. “I'll kick your teeth in if you hurt my runner,” he shouted back, rattling the gates furiously with his hands. He would have tried to climb over if Namron and Alberic, who had followed him hadn't suddenly appeared and dragged him away.

“Calm down, Tomran” panted Namron. “Screeching like an old woman won't get you nowhere.” He pulled Tomran behind the high stone wall of one of the abandoned outbuildings that that surrounded the old forecourt, and all three flung themselves to the ground to get their breath back.

“They're having you on.” said Namron grimly, when Tomran gasped out what he heard. “Danil wouldn't dare. He'd be in trouble with Journeyman Gebron and Master Gadaren for a start, the runners are mine hold property. He'd be up before the Master Miner, the Master Beastman and the Harper if he killed the runners and sold them for meat.”

Tomran wasn't so sure. That Danil was horrible enough for anything. They had to get the runners back and it had to be soon. “We've got to do something, Nam,” he urged. “Fetch the rest of the lads. Get stones...and sticks and things. Knock the gates down, and kick that stupid Danil right up the backside.”

“It would take an army,” said Alberic, looking at the solid wall and the heavy gates. “That place is built to hold against thread, and we don't want a bloody battle with that lot. Some of the runners might get hurt. We'll have to think of something a bit cleverer than that.”

Tomran rolled over and pressed his face in the grass. His throat went dry as he thought of Gleam being killed and turned into Runner meat.

“Why don't we get our dad,” he choked out angrily, after a moment. “I bet he wouldn't half sort them out.”

“Namron shook his head. “He'd only tell us to fight our own battles and not be such sissies,” he replied, and Tomran knew he was right.

Alberic sighed miserably. “We'll have to wait for Journeyman Gebron to get back,” he said “But I don't know what he's gonna say. He trusted us to look after the runners.”

Tomran jumped to his feet. “We can't sit here all day and do nowt,” he shouted. “Climb the wall...or dig a tunnel....or something.”

Alberic suddenly sat up with a strange look on his freckled face. “A tunnel.....” he said slowly. “Wait a minute...crikey! There is a tunnel. It's the first thing the Mine Holder put in after working in the main living caverns and the mine entrance – for emergencies in case of collapse. It goes from a secret entrance into the cold storage caverns of the old hold. Master Gadaren's grandfather told him about it when he was a kid.”

“Makes sense.” Namron said. “First order of business after opening a seam is to have a second way in and out – just in case. Did he say where was?”” he added eagerly.

Alberic shook his head. “The tunnel's been lost for a hundred turns at least, there was an earthquake that brought down more of the faulted cavern and it was it was judged too unsafe to inhabit.”

Tomran had been standing there all this time with his mouth open like a wherry that had dropped it's prey. He gulped hard and his voice wobbled when he spoke.

“I do.” he told them, and they both stared at him. “I know where it is.” and he turned and dashed off into the woods with Namron and Alberic not far behind.

They scrambled through the woods, tripping over woods and scrambling over rocks to the cleft where Tomran had discovered the tunnel.

“It's here.” sad Tomran, hopping from one foot to the other with excitement.

The entrance had been cleverly concealed, but it was well made, and wide enough for one man at a time to walk comfortably upright. They could see the passage delved deep into the hillside, sloping upwards after a few feet.

“Wow Tomran!” Breathed Namron. “I reckon this is it all right. Look, it goes straight up towards the old hold.”

“And if it is Master Gadaren's granddad was right,” Alberic put in, his eyes gleaming “It'll bring us out in the cold caverns, where them blighters are keeping our runners.”

Tomran was all for rushing into the tunnel straight away, but Namron held him back.

“Don't be daft,” he said sensibly. “We need some sort of light, for a start. And don't forget they may be guarding the cold caverns. He pulled Tomran out of the tunnel.

“Listen,” he said. “We'll wait until tonight, when they're asleep. They won't be expecting an attack then, and we'll take them by surprise.”

“Great!” said Tomran, jigging up and down with glee. But Namron's next words wiped the grin from his face at once.

“You needn't think you're coming.” he said. “You're far too little for this kind of trouble. I'll get some of me biggest mates to help. You can stay at home in bed.” And no matter how hard Tomran begged and pleaded, Namron refused to listen.

Alberic's face had gone pale, and he looked far from happy at the idea.

“Hey, Nam,” he muttered, shuffling his feet on the pebbles. “I don't fancy that place in the middle of the night. It's supposed to be haunted. What about them ghosts man? What if we bump into the mad master miner's wife and her sisters?”

Namron laughed out loud at Alberic's horrified face. But it was the mention of the word ghosts that gave Tomran an idea.

+++++

Tomran felt someone shaking his shoulder, and woke up with a start.

“Shh!” hissed Namron, a hand over Tomran's mouth. “Second moon's up. Get your clothes on kid and by everything you hold dear don't wake mam and dad.”

Tomran was wide awake in an instant, his heart thumping with excitement. The light of Belior and Timor shone though the small slit window in the cothold kitchen giving him just enough light to find his clothes. He pulled on his shirt and trousers, and then his jacket, patting the pocket to make sure that the parcel was still there. The big parcel of redberry jam sandwiches, which he'd made the evening before.

His boots in his hand, Tomran tiptoed to the door where Namron was waiting, a rolled up bundle in his arms. “ready?” Namron whispered, and Tomran nodded.

“Good lad.” said Namron. “I've got the hand glows and table cloths and blankets. I only hope this plan of yours works.”

It was Tomran's plan which had finally made Namron change his mind and let Tomran come with them, providing Tomran stayed well out of the way if it came to a fight. Tomran had given his promise, because if things went the way he hoped, there wouldn't even be a fight.

Namron opened the door and they slipped out into the street. A dark figure moved towards them in the moonlight as they were fastening their boots.

“Alberic?” whispered Namron. “Is that you?”

“Nah, it's the Lord of Turnover,” came the reply, and Tomran stifled a nervous giggle.

“Got the Blanket's Nam?” the figure asked, coming closer.

“And the white tablecloths.” replied Namron. “Me mam would have a fit if she knew I'd pinched her best linen. Did you bring the chalk?”

Alberic pulled a handful of white lumps from his pocket. “Here it is,” he said. “And I've told seven of the lads what we're up to. They'll be waiting for us at the gates when we come out.”

“If we come out.” said Namron, tucking his bundle more securely under his arm. “Right then. Away we go.”

Nobody was about, and they met no trouble as they made their way through the woods. Under the trees the moonlight was dappled with shadow on the ground, and more than once they tripped on roots. Tomran wished they were merely out in the forest hunting fungus balls instead of having to enter a dark and spooky tunnel with goodness knows what at the other end. 

“Getting cold feet?” asked Namron. Tomran gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, thinking of Gleam locked up in that dark cold cavern.

”Who me?” he squeaked. “Not likely!” He was the first into the tunnel.

Namron opened the glows while Tomran and Alberic rolled away the concealing rock. Then, pale light glimmering from the close woven hand baskets, they looked at the opening.

“I'll go first.” said Namron, used to underground passages after working down the mine. Holding the glow in front, he entered the tunnel's dark mouth.

Tomran soon forgot to be scared when he found how easy it was. The tunnel was neatly carved, with smooth walls and floor. The only problem was the water, which dripped from joints and seams in the roof and collected in puddles on the floor.

After a few feet the tunnel climbed steeply upwards, and it was hard to grip the slippery wet rock, but by searching for cracks in the ancient tunnel to get hold of, they managed to pull themselves slowly along.

Nobody spoke, and all they could hear was the drip of water and their own breathing. Then suddenly Tomran stopped and listened hard.

“What was that?” he whispered, holding his breath. The noise came again, and this time there could be no mistake. It was the faint sound of runner beasts whinnying not far ahead.

Tomran and the others scrambled hastily on, and it wasn't long before they reached the tunnel's end. All three stared helplessly at one another for a moment, for in front of them was a blank wall of rock.

Namron held his glow up and examined the wall inch by inch. “There must be a secret panel or something.” he muttered “Come on, you idle blighters. Help me look.”

It was Tomran who found it. A tiny metal ring set into the wall near the floor. “Look!” he said, his eyes round. “I bet that's it!”

Tomran grasped the ring and gave it a pull. Suddenly with a slight rumble, a slab of rock slid neatly to one side. Pushing cautiously through the opening, the lads found themselves in a cold damp storage cavern. To Tomran's joy, there were the runners, huddled together in the corner in the dark. Startled at first by the light from the glows and the sudden appearance of three strange figures, they reared up and snorted in fright. One of the taller ones cracked it's poll on the roof of the cavern, dazing it slightly.

Namron stuck the glow onto a carved rock shelf. “Steady now!” he said, patting the runners necks soothingly. “It's only us.” 

The runners quickly calmed down and began to whinny in pleasure as they recognised their friends. Tomran peered into the gloom, straining his eyes to see which one was Gleam, but Gleam found him first. It was hard to tell who was the more delighted. 

“Good lad, Gleam!” gulped Tomran, wiping his eyes on a sleeve, and turning his head away so the others wouldn't see. He fondled the runner's silky ear, and a great feeling of relief crept over him.

Looking for jam, Gleam began to nuzzle Tomran's pocket, but before Tomran could give him any, Namron had started up the wide stone steps to the cellar cavern's door.

“Come on.” he said. “We've still got to get out of this place and if Tomran's plan doesn't work, we're all done for.”

He unrolled the bundle which he still had under his arm, and gave Tomran and Alberic each an old grey woollen blanket, and a square white tablecloth.

 

Tomran had already cut a hole in he middle of each blanket so that it could be pulled over the head and worn like a long grey gown.

“I feel like a proper sissy,” grumbled Alberic, tying the gown round his skinny waist and tying the table cloth around his head as holder women did when dirty work was afoot in the hold, letting the long ends trail down their back to resemble hair. “I hope none of me mates see me like this.”

Tomran, busy fixing his own costume, giggled so much that his tabelcloth kept falling off.

“Never mind, Alberic,” he said. “You look great. Give us a bit of chalk,”

Dressed in their dark grey gowns and white head dresses, their faces and hands rubbed with chalk until they gleamed a ghostly white, the lads stood at the top of the cellar cavern's steps.

“”Ready?” whispered Namron, and the other two nodded. “Right, now!”

All three began to sob and moan and wail in high pitched voices.

It wasn't long before they heard the rattle of bolts being drawn back, and the door to the cavern was flung open.   
“What the sharding hell...?” growled a rough voice, and Danil stuck his head around the door.

Three robed figures with their hair tied back glided past him weeping and wailing and waving their hands.

Danil staggered back against the door. He felt a wetness on his leg. “Ghosts!” he howled “Its the three sisters!”

The rest of the gang rolled up in blankets and sleeping bags on the floor of the great hall – or what remained of it – in front of a log fire leapt up and fell over themselves in confusion. They clung to one another and shrieked in fright as the firelight revealed three ghostly figures moving grimly towards them across the room.

“Help! I'm getting out of here!” roared one, grabbing his boots and making for the door, and it wasn't long before the other's followed. Danil led the way, his teeth chattering in terror, his face pale in the moonlight. The whole mob fled into the night, leaving the metal gates wide open.

“Them beggars won't be back in a hurry.” murmured Namron. Tomran and Alberic grinned happily as they watched them go.

It was a gleeful procession that trotted back to the bottom field a short while later. It had taken no time at all for the jubilant three to get out of their costumes and bring the runners up the cellar steps into the fresh air. The other seven lads had kept their promise and were waiting near the gates to ride the runners home. 

They set off along the road in the moonlight, Alberic riding his favourite black mare, and Namron his frisky grey.

In front went Tomran, riding his beautiful Gleam, and leaning forward from time to time to put another redberry jam sandwich into the runner's mouth.


End file.
